


As I March Towards My Fate

by EchoShimmer



Series: Wumptober 2020 [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Child Neglect, Depressed Tim Drake, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Sad Tim Drake, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, but metaphorically, shackled, wumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26755510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoShimmer/pseuds/EchoShimmer
Summary: Tim has always been independent.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Everyone
Series: Wumptober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948924
Comments: 17
Kudos: 260
Collections: TimDrake works you should read





	As I March Towards My Fate

**Author's Note:**

> This one ended up super metaphorical and only loosely related to the prompt, but I just… I couldn’t write another kidnapping/hostage plot guys. I know this is being posted first, but these weren’t written in order and there were just only so many kidnapping scenarios I could write one after another before I started running out of ideas. So enjoy this somewhat spontaneously created analysis/backstory type thing and welcome to Wumptober :)

Tim has always been self sufficient and responsible. When he was a child, it was always something that his parents and teachers praised him for. 

“You’re such a mature, independent boy, Timothy.”

“You’re so smart, Timothy.”

“You can figure these homework problems out on your own, Timothy.”

“You’ll be fine if we have to leave for a while, right Timothy?”

Tim had been proud to receive the praise, a rare gift from his parents. Sure, sometimes he wished that they would hover more, check in with him more, help him more. But that was a childish wish, and he was mature. He didn’t need his parents there all the time to watch his every move, and they didn’t need a child who was needy when there were so many important things they should be doing instead.

So Tim was a good son. He was responsible, and learned to take care of himself, and didn’t ask for help unless it was absolutely required. He had a house with good security and plentiful food. He went to a good school and had a debit card that refilled itself automatically every month. 

Tim would be responsible. He would make his parents proud. It was fine.

\---

When Tim made the connection between Dick Grayson and Robin, he was nine years old. 

He had been watching the morning news alone over a bowl of cereal on a Saturday morning. Tim had been hoping for some more information about Batman and Robin’s fight against the Riddler the previous night, and he had not been disappointed. In fact, he had been ecstatic to see that part of the fight had actually been caught on camera for once.

There was Batman, working his way through a small horde of Riddler’s henchmen, and there was Robin, flipping down from the rafters to slam down onto the shoulders of a man trying to shoot Batman from behind. The fight then shifted, and the two vigilante’s moved out of frame. The news broadcast cut back to the anchor’s analysis of the event.

But Tim was still stuck on the flip, the near identical recreation of  _ that _ flip from the night of Tim’s first and most traumatic memory. The quadruple somersault, a move that only one famous family of acrobats had ever managed to pull off with any frequency: the Flying Graysons. And wouldn’t you know it, there was only one of them left. A boy, not all that much older than Tim himself- the perfect age and with the appropriate skills to be Robin. 

A boy who, after he was tragically orphaned, was taken in by Bruce Wayne, the billionaire philanthropist who is known for his love and dedication to repairing the city through his work at Wayne Enterprises. Bruce Wayne, who was always surprisingly well muscled for a socialite, brushing it off as an active lifestyle. Bruce Wayne, who was always overbearing with his cluelessness when in public, almost overdramatically so. 

Bruce Wayne, who was absolutely, one hundred percent a perfect fit for Batman.

The news station had long since moved on to the next story, but at this point Tim was far past caring. At some point his spoon had been dropped messily into the bowl, spilling milk everywhere, but that was a later-Tim problem. Right now, Tim had a lot of thinking to do.

\---

It was a weird feeling, knowing the identities of the city’s most secretive protectors. Tim was smart enough to know that if anyone got a suspicion that he knew, half of the city would be after him. Most of the people who wanted to know Batman’s identity would not be stopped by the fact that Tim was only a child. If anything, it would just make him look more likely to crack under pressure.

Tim would never tell anyone what he knew, of course, but the bad guys who would come for him wouldn’t know how mature or stubborn he was. It was much, much safer to ensure that the suspicion was never roused.

By having figured out the secret, it almost felt at times like Tim was the one protecting them, the guardian of Gotham’s Dark Knight and his allies. It was a warm feeling, to think that he could help his heroes in some way while they protected the city. Tim wanted to help more than anything.

But there was only so much Tim could really do for them, as isolated as he was in his big, empty house. He watched the news and combed the papers and internet forums even more religiously than ever, but after a few months just learning about things that happened after the fact wasn’t enough. He needed something more, some way to feel closer.

Tim wanted to see it in person. If he could watch with his own two eyes as the city’s heroes worked, maybe he could figure out a way to help them should the need arise. More than that, he could get more proof that his theory on their identities was correct. That urge in the back of his mind that demanded the puzzle to be solved had yet to be satiated.

So that night, Tim did the first “bad” thing he could ever remember doing. He snuck out of his bedroom window, and made for the location he had worked out as prime for Bat spotting. Then he did it again. And again.

Seeing Batman in action, seeing how gentle he was with those they saved, how much he cared about Robin, pulled at something in Tim’s chest that he didn’t understand. Sometimes it was painful, reminding Tim of the connections he didn’t have, but for the most part it was a good feeling to see his hero in such a good light. It was something the outside world almost never caught, something those he saved often kept close to their chests. Tim was collecting these moments in his mind, cherishing them like they deserved, pulling them out to analyze when things got too quiet and his thoughts got too loud.

Tim wanted more of that feeling.

The next time he went out to try and follow Batman and Robin, Tim brought his camera.

\---

Tim watched as Robin grew, watched as he drifted away, until Robin was gone and Nightwing appeared as leader of the Titans.

Tim watched as Bruce Wayne took in another son, a boy adopted straight off the streets of Crime Alley and with the society manners to match, but with a surprising knowledge of literature.

Tim watched as the new Robin appeared, how he was so rough around the edges and yet cared so much. It only took a few weeks before Tim had a new hero to worry about protecting, maybe even more strongly than ever before because this Robin,  _ his _ Robin, was one he got to watch grow from the beginning.

Tim watched as Robin disappeared, as Batman grew more violent, as the dark knight  _ grieved _ .

Tim connected the dots, Tim saw the news reports about the tragedy that had befallen Jason Peter Todd-Wayne, and he understood.

\---

That sense of duty, that sense of  _ responsibility _ , pulled again at Tim’s chest, urging him to act. Batman was spiraling alone in the dark with no light left to guide him. The city was falling apart in the wake, common criminals growing more fearful even as the Rogues smelt the blood in the water. Batman needed something to get him back on course.

Batman needed a Robin.

Tim had never set out for this, he reflected as he packed all the evidence, the pictures and articles and video screenshots and graphs, into a bag. As he made his way over to Wayne Manor for what would no doubt be the most important discussion in his twelve years of life. Tim had never intended to reveal what he knew, and especially never for this reason.

But that feeling, that maturity, that  _ responsibility _ , pulled at Tim’s limbs like shackles, dragging him forward to his fate. He was the only one who knew, the only one who could possibly understand what was lost and could do what it would take to make things right, or at least better.

Tim hadn’t known then, how the rest of his life would unfold. That in less than a years time his mother would be dead, his father following a few short years later. He didn’t know of the friends he had yet to meet, and how many of them he would lose. He didn’t know how Jason would come back, angry at the world for how it treated him and the father he thought had forgotten him, but especially at the boy who had replaced him. He didn’t know of the other boy, Bruce’s son by blood, who would also seek Tim’s death and eventually replace him as Robin and beloved younger brother. He didn’t know that he would be left once again, alone and spiraling to pick up the pieces and unravel the mysteries like he was nine years old and ancient at the same time.

He didn’t know how he would gain the world, and lose everything just as quickly.

Tim just felt the pulling of his impending fate, the irresistible tugging of his invisible shackles, and he marched towards his fate.

\---

Tim was seventeen now, and everything and nothing had changed.

He was living in his apartment, but was still alone. He was the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, still saddled with more responsibility than anyone his age should rightfully have. He was a vigilante, technically a Bat, widely known and rather well accomplished beyond his years, and yet most of the time he was still left watching from the outside, protecting his heroes- his family- without being truly one of them.

For a while, for a wonderful few years, Tim had allowed himself to think that maybe his fate would change. His old life had fallen apart, but something new had steadily been building itself from the ashes. He had let himself hope.

It had been a foolish thought. Tim knew better than to think he would be permitted to relax into that support and comfort. He was always destined to be independent, self-reliant,  _ alone _ . His life collapsed under him for a second time, and this time when the dust settled there were no signs of rebuilding. The Waynes all stayed at arm's length, neither side willing to reach out. They worked together as needed, protecting the city and occasionally each other, but that was always done professionally from behind their masks. And that was okay.

Tim settled into the familiar role without complaint. He wouldn’t make the mistake of trying to build those bridges again just to watch them burn. He knew better. He had tried to escape his fated role once, and it had only ended in pain. Tim would be good, he could be mature. He would settle for what life had deemed him worthy of.

So Tim gritted his teeth and threw himself into his work. He wore his restraints with resignation and marched along like a good little soldier. He labored and fought and bled alongside the heroes he had long admired, accepting of the fact that he would never have more.

Tim was Batman’s protector. That was his purpose in life.

It was fine.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not going to have a story for every day, but I feel like I did get a decent chunk done, and I’m going to keep chipping away at it throughout October. Some (like this one) are my ideas, some are requests. Some are loose continuations of each other. It will be fun! Anyways, that’s all I’ve got for now. I’ll see you tomorrow for Day Two!


End file.
